Dear Dog Diary:

Every single thing I’m gonna tell you really happened. Nothing’s made up. You couldn’t make this stuff up. What I didn’t see or live myself, I learned from my dog bro’s, my mom, my kitty sis or some other animal relative.

I am Doodle, fourth generation Ayers family surf dog. The surf dog thing started long before me – almost 30 years ago - before dog surfing was even a sport – at Dog Beach in San Diego. Before surf dog contests were even invented.

Our other old friend, San Diego River, the first river of California, is now penned in, paved over - just a glinty tinkle along the I-8 freeway, with a trolley on top, on the way to the mall. River - she floods each year, stealing back parking spaces from Fashion Valley, on her way to Dog Beach. In San Diego, being one with nature meant watching River overflow in big rains – dumping yucky stuff into Ocean at our favorite beach.

Melting hearts of grownups, who've outgrown the magic of life. That’s our #1 job as rescue dogs. As kids.

Inside all of that grownup human species tough talk, is a little puppy. Sometimes with all the talk, you people just miss out on the best parts of life. I’m pretty convinced that’s exactly why dogs don’t talk.

We need each other - extroverts and introverts. People and puppies. Parents and kids. Windsurfers, surfers and SUPpers (stand up paddleboarders.) Grand dogs and seniors. “Domesticated” dogs, feral and wild child friends. People in small towns and big cities all over the world.

So there I was, living at Cat House, surrounded by 25 felines of every size, sense and sensibility. Waiting to be rescued. Elvis stopped by. In 13 seconds, my life forever changed. I was picked out - picked up - by the basset alpha of Surf Dog Diaries. In no time, I was in the car in a box, on my way to my new home with my new surf dog family.

Fall bounty - the surrender of leaves and the farmers harvest. So much to be thankful for. The orchards around the bend of our road- the Historic Columbia River Highway, near Mosier, OR. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

So there I was, living at Cat House, surrounded by 25 felines of every size, sense and sensibility. Waiting to be rescued. Elvis stopped by. In 13 seconds, my life forever changed. I was picked out - picked up - by the basset alpha of Surf Dog Diaries. In no time, I was in the car in a box, on my way to my new home with my new surf dog family.

Elvis, the big ol’ droopy eyed saggy basset hound, swayed around the house, scraping against the walls of the dinky beach cottage. Walking for any length of time ate up his one-big-energy-surge-of-the-whole-day, and he used it to find just the right spot in the sun to plop down for his daily nap. I guess if I carried 70 pounds and a massive square head with neck flaps bearing down on two inch legs, I’d be a super mellow stoner dude too.

Just down the street, the flaxen glow of sunset. Disappear around the bend… into the overwhelming baritone undertone of distant wind in trees. Freeway noise fades into silence of thoughts and secret spots.

This post took on a life of its own - our lovely Bichon Sofi and dashing doxie Doodle meet by accident online - as their moms make plans to attend a writer's workshop. What happens is hysterical - Doodle invites Sofi paddling into the sunset - the Uncle accuses Doodle of being a middle aged man - and our young lovers swap emails.